


Guidance

by ShesAKillerQueen98



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Original Work
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale is Good at Being an Angel (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Patient (Good Omens), Based on real life argument/conversation, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I don't know what I'm doing, I just needed to vent, The Author Regrets Everything, honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24608608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShesAKillerQueen98/pseuds/ShesAKillerQueen98
Summary: After a very heated discussion about current events with her family, Catherine is so lost, confused, and drained. She wants to help but feels her peaceful views have no place or relevance in the modern world. Luckily, an angel hears her prayer for guidance and has some advice that just might help.I'm gonna level with you, this isn't very good. But this is based on an argument that I had with my family and some conversations with friends that came after. This is my way of coping, and my way of figuring out how to move forward.
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As I said in the summary, this is just my way of coping. If my views don't align with yours, I'm sorry. I'm doing everything I can to help while also keeping true to what I believe. I don't want to hurt anyone or make things worse, but I also want to say what I believe. And I believe in peace.  
> Also, there is mention of religion in this. I am a catholic, but I in no way condone the cruelty and bigotry enacted by people of my faith. As I said before, I don't want to hurt or offend anyone, nor do I want to preach to people. This is just me saying what I believe, you are free to agree or disagree.

In all honesty, Catherine didn’t know what had made the discussion spiral into an argument. She had been present for it, she’d heard every word, but as her brother got angrier and her parents continued to disagree, she could feel herself further descending into that small space in her head that she went to whenever she got overly stressed. It was only through the cracks in her own thoughts that she could hear her brother arguing that the officer responsible should get the death penalty, to send a message to other police officers about what would happen if they continued to practice prejudiced brutality. No one in her family believed in the death penalty, her brother included but he felt that this had to be an exception. Catherine didn’t know where she was supposed to stand. She was outraged when she heard about the latest news of police brutality, but she didn’t think violence needed to be met with more violence. Maybe if they were given harsh prison sentences or at the very least fired after first offense…but she was too idealistic. 

It continued to escalate, with them talking about the recent riots and lootings, with her brother claiming they were justified, her father claiming they weren’t and that all they were doing was hurting their community. Small businesses were already suffering due the pandemic and if people were looting their stores, they wouldn’t be able to bounce back. Her brother claimed that riots have gotten results in the past, explaining to her father that the civil rights act was passed due to the riots after MLK Jr. was shot, whereas her father insisted that it was in 1964, not 1968. Finally it ended with her brother storming out of the dining room and up to his bedroom, muttering how it was people like them that made everything go to shit. The sound of clattering silverware from the kitchen and a slamming door upstairs filled the house.

The three left at the dinner table were silent for a few minutes before her mother spoke up.

“He doesn’t like to be wrong.” That wasn’t the root of the situation, but sure it was a part of it. Her brother was a stubborn and passionate person, but he did have difficulty being graceful when admitting he was wrong.

“That may be but I’m still going to correct him if he’s wrong.” Catherine loved her father, but she was also fairly sure that there was a kinder way to put that. 

Catherine began to escape inward again, not fully listening to what her parents were saying, though recognizing that it was repetitive. 

She always hated wherever her family argued, whenever anyone argued. It was rare that her family snapped at each other, by all accounts they were very functional, but they were also all very passionate people, with very strong-willed beliefs. Catherine was no exception, but she had learned from years of being a hothead that sometimes, it was best not to engage when everyone was heated. If they wanted her opinion, she would give it, but, since she was usually talked over anyway, she mostly kept to herself in situations like these. That was really saying something, given how chatty she was. Besides, she was terrified of making everyone even angrier. She hated how weak she was.

The stairs creaked once again, her brother’s stomping footsteps brought her out of her anxious inner mind. He had his phone in his hand with a wikipedia page pulled up and there was still anger on his face.

“The Civil Rights Act of 1968, enacted April 11, 1968, is a landmark law in the United States signed by US President Lyndon B. Johnson as a response to the King Assassination riots. Title II through VII comprise the-”

“That may be but it was expanding on the the act of 64-”

“Still it’s because of the King riots-“

Catherine had tried to just put her dishes in the dishwasher and quietly go upstairs but the argument had gotten far too ridiculous. This may not have been the smartest choice but she didn’t care. She was sick of this.

“You’re both right, okay?” She exploded, shouting loud enough so the two arguing men could hear. Her family stared at her, surprised at her outburst. Usually she was so quiet during moments like this.

“Catherine, please don’t get angry…” her mother tried.

“What, you’re pissed now too?” Her brother snapped.

“No, she just gets anxious when we argue.” Her father explained.

“Don’t mansplain to us, Joseph.”

“No, I _am_ angry.”

“Why? You don’t have any right to be angry.” Her brother said.

“Oh she doesn’t and you do?”

“Stop it!” She shouted, ignoring her mother pleading to not get angry. “I’m just as pissed about all this as you are. But I’m also a pacifist by nature-”

“So am I!” Her brother insisted. Funny, usually whenever someone brought up a more violent method of solving any problem, it was him. “But at some point-”

“Don’t interrupt her.” Her mother said, putting a hand on her arm. She appreciated the support, but not the patronizing tone. She was 21 for Lord’s sake she didn’t need to be talked about like she was 5.

“I’m a pacifist but I’m also just a hopeful idiot who somehow thinks that nonviolence will work. That may be too ideal, but I do know that turning on each other,” she looked at her brother, “and being too arrogant to admit our own flaws,” she looked at her father, who was smirking, like he used to do when she had tantrums when she was little, “doesn’t help anyone.” There were tears in her eyes as she finished. She would have said more, but didn’t want to further embarrass herself. Without another word, she walked up the stairs, trying to regain at least a little of her dignity. She reached her room, shut the door behind her, and fell face first onto her bed, groaning as more tears came to her eyes.

She was so lost. She didn’t know what to think. Her brother had every right to be angry. Her father had every right to feel that he was in the right. Her mother had every right to be uncomfortable. But that didn’t stop Catherine from wishing for a way to settle this without getting so stressed. But she was too idealist for such an opinionated family in an extremist world. Pacifism just had no place nowadays. Things had been wrong for so long and she had wanted for so long to try and help protest and raise awareness. She thought that donating and spreading the word was her doing her part. But was it enough? 

No. 

It wasn’t.

Every time she had gone to any kind of march or protest in her life, she had made sure that she was peaceful about it, that she fought with her words, her beliefs, and her example. She believed that getting too violent didn’t bring the right kind of attention to a cause, that it just made everyone involved angry and hurt. 

She thought of her history class, discussing the French Revolution and the Reign of Terror following it. How long would it be before people, who were justifiably angry, were marching down the streets of DC with cops’ heads on pikes?

But the fact of the matter was pacifism just wasn’t enough anymore. She knew it. 

Yet it still didn’t sit right with her.

She sat up, glancing at the cross hanging above her bed.

There were many things about _that_ she didn’t agree with, but that didn’t stop her from practicing the parts that told her to love and be kind.

Maybe, she just needed some help.

She folded her hands. It had been a while since she prayed, but she often found herself doing this whenever she was in a situation of emotional turmoil and extreme stress.

“Um, hi.” She began. “I…I just don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to believe. I want to help, but I don’t think what I want is possible. There’s no place in this world for nonviolence. But I…I’m just so lost.” The more she spoke, the more tears came to her eyes. Her breathing was ragged and she felt so weary. “I need help.” She continued. “I need advice, I need help. I need…I need a hug? I…I don’t know. I just…please…” She took a breath, wiping away some of the tears. “I put myself, my doubts, and my worries into your hands.”

Something touched her shoulder. A soft, gentle hand. 

She looked up and her eyes widened. Sitting on her bed was a man, an older gentleman who looked to be about 50 or so. 

Who was he? How did he get into her room? 

Something flickered behind him. She blinked, thinking she had been seeing things. It flickered again. In the slowly fading afternoon sunlight, she caught a flash of a pair of white, feathery wings. He was an angel.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Catherine thought was that he didn’t look at all like how she thought an angel would. Even though she could see brief flashes of his wings every so often, for the most part they were out of sight. There was no glowing halo, aside from a head of blonde curls that were so bright they were almost white. There was no white and gold robe, no scepter, no flaming sword, nothing of the sort. He was dressed like he was from the victorian era, with a blue button up shirt and cream colored pants and waistcoat, with a watch on a chain chain clipped onto the side pocket. Then again, she enjoyed wearing vintage clothes as well and would happily admit to owning and wearing a waistcoat, so she wouldn’t judge. Though his appearance didn’t look to angelic, his expression certainly did. On his face was a gentle, sympathetic smile, tugging at his sad, blueish gray eyes. 

The second thing Catherine thought was, _Well this is embarrassing. An angel is in my room and I’m sitting here crying my eyes out._

She didn’t know what to say. She was too worn out to think.

Luckily, the angel was the first one to speak.

“Hello.” He spoke with a British accent. 

“Hi.” She said warily. “Um, what are you doing in my room?”

“You asked for me, didn’t you?”

“I suppose I did, but I didn’t really expect to get an answer.”

The angel chuckled warmly. “Ask and ye shall receive.” Catherine cracked a tiny smile. Twelve years of catholic school and she was actually surprised to see an answer to her prayer. Boy would Father Will be disappointed. 

“Well, I thought God would have more important things to do. After all, just look at all that’s happening.” A pandemic and people of color being murdered by police officers resulting in widespread protests, riots, and lootings. 

“There may be a lot happening, but that doesn’t mean that She isn’t listening.”

“She?” Catherine asked. The angel nodded. Well…okay then.

“My name is Aziraphale.” The angel said, holding out his hand. 

“Catherine.” She shook it, still a little shell shocked.

“I’m honestly a little surprised you’re taking this so well.” Aziraphale said. “I may not have presented myself to many humans but the few times I have, they’ve usually gotten rather frightened to see an angel.”

“Well, I guess you could say that deep down I was hoping for something like this, so maybe that’s why I’m not afraid. But maybe it’s also the fact that I just had a really heated argument with my family, and I can’t exactly handle another emotional extreme.”

“Yes I heard.” Aziraphale said gently, a frown coming over his face. 

Catherine brushed some of the tears away with the back of her hand, only for more to come. “So soon? It only happened five minutes ago.”

“You’d be surprised how fast word travels around heaven.” The angel said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. “Here. Dry your eyes, my dear.” She took it and wiped away the tears. Mostly they had dried, but she still felt horribly frustrated. 

“Now, what can I do to help?”

“Help?”

“That is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Catherine shrugged. “I guess, but it’s not that simple. It can’t be fixed just like that. You heard about the argument right?” Aziraphale nodded sadly. “So you know what brought it up?” He nodded again. “That’s just it.” Catherine sighed, setting her cheek on her hand. “Everything is so uncertain and crazy. I want to help and I’m doing everything I can. But…it just doesn’t feel like enough. I should be out helping, not safe at home doing nothing. And then my brother comes over here with the whole death penalty thing and that’s too extreme and then my parents are on with the whole absolutely no violence thing which is where I would usually stand and where I want to stand, but I also know that that’s not going to work. It just leaves me feeling so icky inside. I’m standing firmly in the middle, but isn’t that just the same as being complacent? Aren’t I just part of the problem? After all this problem is way too big to be solved by nonviolence but turning to extremism just feels so wrong and…” she had begun crying again, her anxiety raising to concerning levels. It was getting hard to think, hard to breathe.

The gentle hand was on her shoulder again. “It’s alright, it's alright. Take a few deep breaths.” She complied, as best as she could, inhaling deeply, holding it for five seconds, and then letting it out, the way her therapist had taught her. She took a few more breaths as Aziraphale handed her the handkerchief again, which she gratefully accepted, wiping her eyes as she did her best to get her breathing under control. She handed it back to the angel, who now had a glass of water in his hand. “Don’t want you to get dehydrated.” He said. She took the glass and took a few sips. 

“You must think I’m silly or immature.” She said.

“Absolutely not.” The angel assured. 

She drank the rest of the water. Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the glass disappeared. 

“I just…” she sighed heavily.

Aziraphale opened his arms and she fell into the embrace. It felt strange to be hugged by an angel, but it wasn’t unwelcome. It was warm and comforting, like how she felt when she hugged her grandfather before he passed away. She took a few more deep breaths, the smell of old books and tea wafting into her nose. It was a nice homey smell, and she found herself calming down slightly. But the pain and confusion were still there. “I’ve never felt so ashamed to be a pacifist.” She murmured.

“Ashamed?” Aziraphale asked, pulling out of the embrace, though his hands were still on her shoulders. “Why are you ashamed?”

“Because it’s pointless.” She admitted. “I want to believe that things can be resolved peacefully, I want to believe that there’s a way to make everyone happy, but that’s just wishful thinking, I know that to be true. But I still believe in peace, even if it has no place in this kind of situation. My beliefs are so outdated that I just…” she sighed again.

“What about them are outdated?” Aziraphale asked.

“Well, they may have worked a year ago or even six months ago, but now things have reached a point where it won’t work anymore. People are too angry and things have boiled over. “

“My dear, what is _your_ definition of pacifism?” The angel asked.

Catherine thought for a moment. She never had to put it into specific words before. She believed in peace, but how does one get there? 

After a few moments of thinking, she spoke. “Making yourself heard about what you believe in, but not hurting anyone in the process. Because if you use brutality to get your way, it just makes everyone brutes. Besides, more often than not people on the opposite side are just looking for a reason to put you in the wrong, and by enacting violence, you give them more of a reason to not listen to you. If we use our fists instead of our words to enact change, are we any better than those who oppress? I mean, just look at the French Revolution.”

The angel shuddered and cringed. “Apologies, bad memories of that.” He said. “But that is a very solid definition.”

“But it has no place here this time. Most of the time, everyone moves to extremes in situations as heated and overdue as this one. People have been angry for a long time, and they have every right to be. But if I’m not on either side, doesn’t that just make me some spineless fucker who can’t decide what she thinks is right?”

Aziraphale bristled at her harsh language, but said nothing about it. “Not necessarily.” He answered. “Agreeing with some aspects of one party but not all, and agreeing with some aspects of another party but not all does not make you weak, not in the slightest. There’s nothing wrong with wishing for a peaceful solution. So long as it doesn’t blind you to ways of moving forward. Something I had to learn the hard way was that there is never any situation in which nobody gets hurt.” Catherine looked down at her hands, gripping each other tightly in her lap. “Ultimately, though, engaging in a conversation about what you believe is right is a vital part of what causes change.”

“But what if people don’t want to listen?” Catherine asked, looking back toward the angel. “The situation has gotten so bad that talking just doesn’t work anymore.”

“You don’t have to choose one or the other.” Aziraphale said gently, putting his hand on her shoulder again. “Being in the middle doesn’t make you weak.” She sighed again. “Would you believe me if I told you I know how it feels to be caught in the middle like this?” He asked.

“What do you mean?”

Aziraphale looked to his left, out the window, deep in thought as he reminisced. “Heaven was getting ready to fight in a war. I wanted no part of it, but I was too frightened of what might happen if I tried to take matters into my own hands. I tried asking anyone who would listen to try and stop it but everyone was so set on fighting that nothing I said reached them.”

“So what did you do?”

Aziraphale looked back at her, a slightly triumphant grin on his face that seemed a little too mischievous for an angel. “I found my own way.” He drummed his fingers against his knees. “I won’t lie to you and say that it was easy or that I wasn’t absolutely terrified the entire time, but I still felt that what I was doing was right.” She looked back towards her hands, a mess of tangled emotion knotting up inside her. Nothing she could do seemed right, but if she wanted to make her own way, she would most definitely be alone in doing it. “I do agree that this is an extremist world you live in, but there are people who stand in the middle, who may feel just as lost as you are.” For some reason, that made her feel just the tiniest bit better. Somehow just knowing you’re not alone does help. “Which brings me to your second point. What you’re doing now isn’t a lack of action, nor is it useless. Just because you’re not out there marching doesn’t mean you aren’t helping. You’ve donated, haven’t you?”

“When I can.”

“You’re spreading information that you feel is useful to those who are marching and enlightening to those who would rather stay ignorant, correct?”

“Yes, but-“

“That’s hardly nothing. Fighting a war of any kind, political, moral, civil, takes all kinds of people doing all kinds of work.” Catherine was still unconvinced. “You studied the second world war in history, correct?” Catherine nodded. “Tell me then, what did the people who stayed at home and didn’t fight in the war or volunteer as doctors or nurses do?”

“Got jobs building planes or tanks or other machines and weapons.”

“Was that all?”

“No, they grew food in their gardens and donated it, and the money that would have gone to groceries to the war effort.”

“Anything else?”

Catherine sighed again, she saw where he was going with this. “Raised money and morale by spreading the word.” She said, slightly defeated but a hint of a smile on her lips.

A delighted grin came to Aziraphale’s face. “And how is that any different from what you’re doing now?” He asked. She gave him a look, a slight smirk coming to her face. “If you want to support peaceful protesting, than support it, if you want to support more active protesting, than support it. If you want to support a combination of both, than support it. The only harmful things you can do in this situation is support those who continue to hurt the innocent or stay silent or ignorant to what is happening.”

“So what do I do now?” She asked, still tired from her emotional burst.

The angel thought for a moment before pulling her into another hug. “That’s not for me to decide, dear girl.” She had to suppress a groan. She was afraid he’d say that. He pulled away and set his hand on her shoulder for a third time, compassion and sympathy in his eyes, along with something else. Perhaps it was hope. “But just know that you won’t be alone, wherever you stand.” 

Catherine blinked her eyes a few times and the angel was gone. Her room was still and silent again. She looked out her window towards the setting sun and let out a deep breath. 

Voices came from downstairs. They didn’t sound angry, but they _did_ sound deep in discussion. 

Rising to her feet and slowly walking over to the door, Catherine took another breath before leaving the safety of her room, still terrified and confused, but perhaps a little more prepared for what lay ahead of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, if you are going to comment something political, please be civil.  
> Thank you for reading. I won't lie, but this took a lot out of me. This whole situation has been so hard for everyone and everyone is so angry. As they should be. Things have been unjust for too long and I'm glad people are starting to rise up, people of every race are recognizing and speaking out against the violence, inequality, and white supremacy that should have been eradicated decades ago. Things can't be easily fixed and wrapped up with a neat little bow.  
> But there is also a part of me that still believes that there is a peaceful solution to everything. It may be a foolish part of me, but it is part of me nonetheless. I will continue to do all I can to help, I will donate, I will spread word, speak out against what I feel is wrong, and if I can, I will march. If you have your own way of speaking out, then do it. Follow what you believe is right.  
> If you're like me and feel that your beliefs have no place in a heavy situation like this, know you're not alone and believing in peace or being in the middle doesn't make you foolish or weak.  
> If you want to help as well, but can't donate or march, spreading the word and speaking out are still very valid parts of this fight and are needed just as much as the marchers.  
> Thank you for reading. I don't know what I'm doing with myself, but thank you for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're going to comment something political, please keep it civil. I have no problem with people sharing what they believe as well, but if you're going to be aggressive or hurtful or in any way unhelpful, I will not hesitate to disable your comment.


End file.
